


Joy Ride

by minkmix



Category: Supernatural
Genre: how do you wash off vinyl, i mean throughly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 12:10:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15685176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minkmix/pseuds/minkmix
Summary: When the security of the Impala is threatened, the Winchesters leave their pants behind... dot dot dot





	Joy Ride

Sam opened his eyes and focused on the slanted shadows across the ceiling.

He was pretty sure he had finally faded to black less than five seconds ago and not the hour that the clock was saying he had. Cursing his sudden alert state, he rubbed his face and tried to will the fog to return. Adjusting his body back into the bed’s comfortable mattress he listened to the quiet. When a few minutes passed and he felt no change he began to ponder the act of actual sheep counting.

That’s when he heard it.

Sitting up, he quickly realized it wasn’t coming from inside the room. This time he was wide awake enough to realize exactly what subconscious felt an urgent need to yank him out of well deserved rest.

“Wake up.”

Sam stared hard at the window and waited for it again.

“Dean.” He pushed the wadded sheets back slowly and rechecked the time glaring in dull red on the clock. “Wake up.”

“C-ChickCopDemon?”

Sam wasn’t sure if those were three individual possible threats or one large bad one. Choosing silence over the need to qualify, he glanced over to see Dean’s body had already sat up with a pistol cocked unsteadily at the spot on the wall between the television and a crappy pastel rendering of a bowl of fruit. Upon seeing nothing there, his brain became rightly confused as to why.

“You hear that?” Sam asked softly, one bare foot touching the stiff carpet.

His brother woke the rest of the way up and refocused his attention on the locked and bolted motel door. Tipping the barrel of his gun straight upwards in an automatic gesture of deliberation, he tilted his head when a familiar creak of worn shocks reached them through the flimsy pane of the window. The noise repeated itself and then included something new. Sam knew the shrill wayward squeak of rusty cushion springs as well as the sound of his own name.

Dean slowly turned back to look him in the eye in the dim glow that fell through the curtains. He had complete astonished disbelief plastered all over his face. Sam watched the expression swiftly shift to enraged incredulity, and knew he didn’t need to explain what else he’d heard while Dean was still sleeping. The situation had all registered nicely like an unexpected slap to the face with a dead fish.

“Mother fucker...”

Sam didn’t bother telling his brother to wait for a second. Dean was up out of bed and tearing the chain off the mount before Sam could even think of another course of action. There was always the idea that they could actually try and be cool about it. They could go out the back window and get out to the asphalt in about as long as it would take to get out the front door if they really wanted to. But in a way, he wholeheartedly agreed with the direct approach. After all, it was the one and only car they had.

Savage sentiment hadn’t completely thrown his brother off his game however. After he got the locks undone, he cracked the door open just enough to give the immediate outside a good once over. He must have not seen anything that warranted pants because before Sam knew it, his brother had leveled his firearm again and stepped out into the dull orange glare of the sodium lamps.

Sliding his own piece out from under the bed, Sam gave one look at the jeans tossed over the back of a chair and debated for one painful moment before knowing it was a lost cause. Not bothering with trying to tuck the cold metal in the flimsy elastic of his boxers, he was out the door several seconds behind his brother.

It occurred to him that over the many years of intense car ownership that its safety had very rarely been compromised.

There was no telling exactly why. Maybe it appeared like the type of car that would be too conspicuous to take off with and not expect the cops to identify it 30 seconds later on the freeway. Although, Sam had always had the sneaking suspicion that his old man had carved a charm somewhere on the insides of the vintage frame that made the law see right through it. Perhaps it was too irregular of a model to sell off to anyone but the most dedicated aficionados of the General Motor glory days. Sam thought it might have been a lot of those things.

But most of all, he believed that most professionals worth their salt knew not to mess with anything that big and fine tuned to a roar.

In fact, he could only recall three attempts on its life. The first memory was vague. He remembered more about the quiet roil of his father’s anger for days afterward than the actual incident itself. Weeks after the fury of the violation had passed, he would still find gem like pieces of the windshield in the folds of the backseat. It had been more or less a nomadic version of breaking and entering. A window an easy thing to shatter for a zipped duffel left foolishly in open sight in a bad section of town. It had been Sam’s bag that had sparked the stranger’s temptation and for all their efforts, the thief didn’t get away with much.

All that was in that ripped nylon sack was some laundry and an old hand-me down denim jacket that fit perfectly across the span of Sam’s growing shoulders. He had been thinking about the loss of that jacket long into his father’s tense hushed lecture about how a man minded his own things. He’d had to wait years until Dean finally grew out of it before it was his and the custody had lasted only three glorious days.

The concrete was cold under his bare feet.

The unclipped bushes grew wildly alongside the one floor building giving a perfect splatter of shadow to mask his passage. Dean was about three meters ahead of him. The sudden slam of the car door made them both pause. The rows of vehicles parked by the motel’s guests were on the other side of a line of trees. The one lot lamp that stood between them was almost dead. It flickered weakly on its filament, casting its illumination from sick to stark. Sam glanced up when he noticed the rumble of thunder adding another stutter of weak light. At least the car still appeared to be there. The second time someone had made a move on their ride, it had actually vanished.

Sam remembered the strange abandoned feeling of sitting on the cement curb block while his brother and father both exploded over and over again. He’d almost been done with middle school then. Left in the stuffy room they’d rented he studied for a test he knew he’d never show up for until he heard the rumble of the engine pull up outside the door. It had taken him a moment to even remember that it had even needed to been found. That night had faded into every other night he’d spent alone. When they both walked through the door tired and tight lipped it was like every other day of the year. It turned out the car was found with the keys in the ignition parked sideways at a 7-Eleven. What was room and board for some had been a joyride for someone else with a bottle of whiskey and a few hours to kill. The blame had gone to Dean that time. Sam knew that one well enough. It had taken almost a month to go by before his brother stopped asking him if he was sure he was locking his door.

“He’s in there.” Dean barely whispered.

Sam slipped to the opposite side of the path and did a quick take of the silhouette moving behind the car’s dusty glass.

Visual confirmation pissed off Sam a little more than he thought it would. He briefly entertained the notion of shooting out the tires just to spite whoever had jacked the locks. One glance at Dean’s face told him that the idea was a terrible one. With the smell of spent gun powder in the air, his brother might snap and really get into the spirit of things. Sam was sure his brother could perfectly justify unloading into the unwitting soul that was routing around in the insides of what sounded like the glove compartment. The thought of a fanatical barrage of bullets brought back the very last time Sam had witnessed their means of transportation threatened by another human being.

He had actually been sitting in it at the time. Leaning back in the passenger side he’d been staring at the red light hanging over an empty four way intersection. It had been close to dawn and they were both tired enough that neither one of them noticed the armed gentleman walk right up to the driver’s side open window.

Now that Sam thought about it, the sight of a stranger holding a pistol up to the side of his brother’s head should have caused more alarm than it had. Actually, the event still played the car’s potential of endangerment in his memory rather than his siblings jeopardized brains. It was an awkward moment when the guy didn’t quite understand that Dean had simply twisted the gun right out of his grip. Dean didn’t even direct it back in the perpetrator’s direction. Admiring the make of the piece, the traffic light had conveniently stayed red for a few more moments of appreciation before his brother gave a nod of goodbye. They’d left the man standing in the middle of the street, the slow ease on the gas taking them on their way with a brand new semi-automatic for their inventory.

His brother broke the cover of the foliage to get a better view.

Melding into the shadows on the other side of the sidewalk, he paused long enough to raise his eyebrows at Sam. He didn’t know why Dean was giving him the up and down for being out in public in just his underwear. At least Sam had made sure his were pulled up to cover the entirety of his ass.

“On three...” Dean said.

There was a saying amongst responsible weapon owners. You only point at something you are fully willing to shoot.

“One...”

Their father had added the small but helpful amendment of: also feel free to aim at anything you’d like to scare the ever living shit out of.

“Two...”

But Sam doubted that the downward cant of the gun was for the sake for the person inside. His brother was probably more worried about the guy taking one look down the barrel and messing up the seats.

“What the hell—“

The confused tone in Dean’s voice made Sam immediately lower his own revolver. Quickly leaning down to get his brother’s view, he instantly saw why. A wash of relief flooded over him as he swiftly shoved the firearm into the back of his boxers and prayed like hell that the gun and his dignity would stay in place. Dean rubbed the muzzle of his own pistol under his jaw a few times, unsure of how to proceed.

He decided banging real hard three times on the car roof would do the trick.

The hushed voices quickly silenced and turned into a drunken slur of laughter. The car shook on its shocks as the two people inside quickly righted themselves, and more importantly scrambled to replace missing clothing.

The back door reluctantly swung open.

Sam was not shocked to see a clip on bowtie hanging around a white dress shirt on the young man. The giggling young woman in the unzipped bodice attached to masses of iridescent taffeta made him think of what a peacock might wear in a disco circa 1974. He stopped the start of an inappropriate burst of laughter when Dean’s glare swung in his direction. He was glad that at least his brother had enough presence of mind to stow the hand canon he had been ready to utilize.

“Maybe I've watched too many Degrassi repeats but...” Dean tiredly asked them. “Isn’t prom night for limos?”

“W-We didn’t know this was anyone’s car.”

Sam thought the excuse was as perfectly lame as any he could have come with given the same circumstances. Who knew? If he was a proficient sleeper maybe the backseat of the car could have become a landscape that kid could have drunkenly regaled his horrified grandchildren about. Nevertheless, a harmless 90 pounds soaking wet or not, the teenaged opportunist was lucky he hadn’t been sucker popped in the face with a brutal left hook.

They watched the two high schoolers stumble over themselves down towards the other end of the lot. One of the room doors was wide open with music playing and the sounds of newly graduated voices drinking illegally bought cheap beer. Looking warily at the other dark cars and drawn curtains, Sam wondered how many virgins this town was going to lose before sun up.

“Is everything…” Sam wasn’t sure how else to phrase the question. “…okay?

Dean peered down into the backseat.

“One of your bras is back there.”

The walk back to the room brought the chill of early morning that adrenaline had let him ignore. He knew that as soon as he hit the bed this time that he’d be out for sure. Not expecting his brother to follow suit anytime soon, he wasn’t surprised to hear the driver’s door of the old chevy open and slam shut. There was one way to make sure that no one else experienced their first blundering sexual awakening on custom black vinyl.

Sam just hoped Dean didn’t get cold.


End file.
